The Cowboy Returns
by Gamester Cladsl
Summary: After a year of Santa Fe, Jack returns to New York. People have grown up, the newsies are fighting a turf war, and he's not their leader anymore. Those he left want answers, and Jack is forced to face his decisions as he tries to save what was once his.
1. Just Breathe

_** Disclaimer:**__ I obviously don't own Newsies. I own any and all original characters not seen in the movie. _

_ This fanfiction slightly refers to things in my Christmas-themed one-shot, "Hope of the Magi". You don't have to read that story to understand this one, but more readers never hurts. =)_

_ This is the story I've been wanting to write for about a year. It was originally supposed to be an original fiction, but it needed too much background story that I didn't feel like writing, so I used something I already knew the background to-- Newsies. As fate would have it, I recently found an old notebook of mine in which I had begun a Newsies fan fiction very similar to this one. Funny how the world works. _

_ Feel free to discuss and ask questions. Enjoy. =D_

**July 2, 1901**

"So… where is it you're headed?"

"Hm? Ouch!" He rubbed his neck as he stared at the window that had just been supporting his head for the last… well, it must have been a while because his neck had gone stiff.

The chipper man who had broken the silence broke it once more. "So sorry… didn't mean to startle you, Mr.…."

"Sullivan. Francis Sullivan."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sullivan. I didn't wake you, did I?"

He shook hid head and yawned. "No, I wasn't asleep yet-- just almost," he said matter-of-factly.

The Man paused from picking some lint off his slacks. "Oh, then I sincerely apologize. I know how difficult it is to fall asleep on the train."

He stared at the golden letters on The Man's briefcase, which had become the trash bin for all the lint. "No worries, Mr. Bronson. I only sleep when I have to. I dream better when I'se awake."

"Of course." The Man tried to scoot closer to the aisle. This Mr. Sullivan's quizzical explanation and slip of improper grammar disinterested him. Still, etiquette called for some polite conversation.

"I'm heading home to see my wife," The Man began quickly and awkwardly, "I'm a traveling salesman, you see." He opened his briefcase to reveal multiple bars of sharp-smelling soap. Noticing that this Francis Sullivan didn't seem impressed, The Man quickly closed his case but continued speaking. "We've been married for about eighteen months or so, but I've only seen her five times, and the visits never last for more than a week. Ten days, if I'm lucky. The wife hates it, but I enjoy the freedom… and money too much to give it up." The Man subconsciously straightened his bowtie. "I always look forward to going home, though. I have to admit-- the business gets a little lonely sometimes." He picked another piece of lint off his suit jacket and flicked it onto his briefcase. "Is that where you're off to, Mr. Sullivan? Are you heading home?"

He looked down at the hand resting between his leg and the train wall. The Man tried to see what was clutched inside of it, but he held it too tightly. Whatever he was holding seemed to be helping him contemplate his answer. Finally, he spoke.

"I don't know."

The Man looked at him with a disturbed brow. He _had_ to be going _some_where.

"Well, what does it say on your ticket?"

"I mean, I'se getting off in New York but--"

"Well, isn't this a funny scene! So am I! Where in New York are you going? Anywhere in the city?"

"Manhattan. But Mr. Bronson," he added quickly before The Man could get in another word, "it's been nice talkin' with you, but I'm going to try and get some sleep, if you don't mind."

"Oh. No, not at all," The Man said smugly. He knew Mr. Sullivan didn't mean to be rude, but he took it as such anyway.

Hours of silence later, he awoke to find Mr. Bronson nowhere to be found, not that he cared to find him at all. The last thing he needed was some would-be tightwad to ruin his nervous excitement. He picked up his belongings with his un-clutched hand and walked to the nearest exit. The people in front of him weren't moving fast enough. Each step he took seemed to lengthen the distance between him and the door, but at last-- he made it.

The Big Apple sun was barely there to greet him as he stepped off the train and into the town that was his. He took several deep breaths as he walked, each one longer than the last, savoring the smell of buildings rather than fields. Of people rather than cows. Of sweat rather than manure. Of… ink.

"Sir, it's me last pape of the day, would you buy it, sir?"

He set down his bags and smiled as he handed a penny to the young newsie he did not recognize. He took the newspaper and, folding it carefully, dropped in into one of his bags. He watched the boy leave and looked around for a moment before deciding it was time.

He slowly opened his clutched hand, wiggling and cracking his fingers. His empty hand grabbed the other end of it and brought it to his neck-- no differently than so many times before. He tied the red bandana and fit it perfectly in its place. He picked up his bags and stood, staring at the streets in front of him. He gave one last, long exhale to rid himself of the nervous butterflies filling his stomach. He cleared his throat as if preparing to give the biggest speech of his life, stood up straight, and smiled his child-like-confidence smile. He was finally back. Jack Kelly had returned to New York City.

_Gracias for reading. Updates coming shortly._


	2. Mamma Mia

_My sincerest thanks to Flip and Pegasus for their very kind reviews of the first chapter. _

Jack hadn't been walking but twenty minutes when he stopped.

"Where am I going?"

He meant this quite literally. He thought it had been planned out perfectly. He'd ride with Marcus to the train yards, buy a ticket to the city, sleep for a few hours, get off the train, start walking… and then what? This was as far as his planning had realistically taken him. He never imagined what to do next. In his head, all he saw after stepping off the train were all of the Manhattan newsies standing there, anxiously awaiting the return of their leader.

As to why his mind conjured this scene, he had no idea. After all, no one knew he was coming back. He never told anyone. He hadn't sent a letter to David, telling him to bring everyone to the station on the second of July. He hadn't written to Racetrack to keep an eye out for him on the way back from Sheepshead Bay. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't written a letter to _anyone_ while in Santa Fe. He didn't receive any mail, either. The last time he'd heard from the newsies was the last time he saw them-- over one year ago, on the day he left.

He suddenly became very concerned… almost scared.

What if something bad had happened to one of them while he was away? How would he have known about it? What if he whipped open the bunkroom door… and someone was missing?

Jack laughed at himself. The long train ride had obviously done something to his head. If something _that_ serious had happened, surely they would have found a way to let him know about it.

A bell rang, and he looked to his right. The place where he'd stopped walking was right in front on a seamstress shop. A small family consisting of a father, mother, and their little girl had just stepped out of the store.

"But I don't want to wait until home, can't I see my dress now?"

Jack was surprised to hear the girl speak, for her tone was one of calmness rather than complaining.

"Oh, James, look how excited she is," said another calm voice. The mother's eyes were sparkling, and her grin was as wide as the enormous hat that rested on her tight blonde curls. Her voice didn't seem to belong.

"Alright, but just for a moment. It's getting late, my loves," the big-mustached father said. Again, the tone surprised Jack. Despite their appearance, the family seemed almost too simple. Almost.

The father bent down and, noticing Jack, smiled and said, "Thank you, but you go on ahead."

Jack felt a bit guilty, for the reason he stopped walking in the first place had nothing to do with letting he family cross in front of him. Still, he nodded to the father and continued traveling…

… until he reminded himself the he hadn't decided upon a destination.

Before he had the chance to prolong his journey yet again, he heard the mother speak.

"That's long enough now, dear. Your father's right-- it's late, and we're both very tired. You can look at it more in the morning, Sarah."

Jack's heart began to thump wildly. Sarah. Sarah Jacobs. That is who he needed to see first. He pace quickened considerably. He thought about her almost every night before he went to sleep; why had it taken him this long to figure out that the Jacobs's apartment was where he should head to first? Maybe he was scared of what he'd find.

He took a right. Eight blocks down. Then another right. His body moved correctly without him giving much thought to it. He closed his eyes every so often as he walked so he could keep a clear picture of her shining face in his head. After a few months in Santa Fe, it became more difficult to see every detail; there were just some things about her he couldn't remember, like how many teeth showed when she smiled. And the exact shades of brown in her eyes. Now that he was back in New York, though, all of the missing pieces seemed to be putting themselves back together. He couldn't wait to see her again in person. To wrap her up in his arms again. The feel her head rest near his shoulder again. To kiss her again…

Sarah was just drying the last dessert plate when she heard someone knocking on the apartment door. She looked confused. Whoever it was only knocked four times, but the knocks were loud and rather fast-- it certainly wasn't her father, and David had left only a half hour ago. She timidly placed her ear against the door and asked, "Who is it?"

On the other side of the door, Jack involuntarily grinned.

"Oh, come on, Sarah. Just open the door."

She jerked her head away, as if the door had just burned her skin. She knew that voice. Too well. But it couldn't be… could it?

She turned the handle and opened slowly.

Jack thought she looked even more beautiful than he remembered. There was something funny about her, though. Perhaps it was the look of complete and befuddled shock on her face. Her eyes looked uncomfortably wide. They narrowed, however, as Jack took it upon himself to invite himself in and make his way to the center of the Jacobs's tiny living room, fondly taking it all in again. He turned around, expecting to see Sarah facing him. Instead, all he saw were clenched fists on either side of her back.

"How _dare_ you."

Her voice was calm but not the simple calm of the family from the seamstress shop. It was a biting calm that sent chills up and down his arms. And not in a good way.

"How dare you set foot in this house, Jack Kelly."

Her voice broke when she said his name, and she immediately inhaled sharply as if a knife had sliced her skin when she said it.

She finally turned around. She didn't look like she was expecting Jack to say anything, which was good, because Jack didn't dare speak. Her eyes were becoming increasingly glossy. She ran her eyes over him multiple times, just to make sure he was real. Then, her face turned incredibly tight and angry. She took several breathes and looked like she wanted to say something. Several things, actually, and Jack did not want to hear any of them. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then look frustrated. A few tears trickled down her cheeks. She wiped them away and shook her head. When she looked at him again, her face held more concern than anything else. She gave a lengthy exhale and scrunched her forehead in slight disgust.

"Please go to the washroom. You need a shave. You can use David's things."

Deeply bewildered, but relieved nonetheless, Jack did as he was told without looking back. He shut himself inside the washroom, and looked in the mirror, seeing his reflection for the first time in a long time. Sarah was right-- he did need a shave. And how.

He knew that she'd be shocked and maybe a bit mad, but nothing could have prepared him for the degree to which she felt these emotions. He didn't blame her, though. Perhaps, deep down, he knew she would feel this way, what with how she reacted when she found out he was leaving…

_ That's all for this chapter. I know everyone is itching to know what's going on with our boys, but this had to come first. =) They will appear in the next chapter, though, so hang in there. _


	3. Another Land

So... it's been a while- but my current school schedule (3-hour break between classes) has given me a lot of time to write. I know I promised the boys in this chapter... well, I lied. But I KNOW they appear next chapter. Enjoy. =)

_**June 22, 1900**_

"_Leaving?"_

_Jack nodded as he used his fork to push around the little bit of egg that was left on his plate. It had been a good meal; he wouldn't forget it._

"_Where are you going?"_

_He inhaled deeply. _

"_Sante Fe," he said._

_Sarah clapped her hand over her mouth, hiding her mad grin._

"_I can't believe it! Jack- you're finally getting your dream! Why didn't you tell me earlier?"_

_This wasn't the reaction he was looking for. He then remembered that Sarah couldn't read his mind and probably misunderstood what he meant by 'leaving'. Before he had the chance to explain anything further, Sarah chimed in with another question._

"_How many days are you going to be there?"_

_Jack cleared his throat and took a sip of water before answering. He stared at Sarah's face; her eyes were practically dancing. They were so excited- they expected so much from him, but this time, he could not give it. His heart broke a little- something it had been doing more often than not during the last few weeks. _

"_I leave in two days. As for when I come back…" He paused to remind himself that now was not the time to get emotional. _

"_I'm not sure."_

_Her expression changed immediately. _

"_You're not sure?" she said as she tilted her head. "What do you mean?"_

"_I mean," he said, staring at his plate, "that I'm going to Santa Fe, and I ain't too sure how long I'm gonna be gone. It could be a few months, or it could be a few years."_

_He couldn't see her face- he was glad he couldn't see her face. Her voice was icy._

"_I can't believe you're telling me this now. Just two days before you leave for who knows how long."_

_Jack gathered his courage and looked up. Sarah was now standing. Her arms were at her sides, and her fists were clenched. She wasn't looking at him._

"_I'se been wanting to tell you for a while now, but I haven't exactly had the opportunity to…" _

_He regretted saying it before the words had even finished coming out of his mouth. _

"_Get out."_

"_Sarah, I didn't-"_

"_You want to leave? Fine. Go," she said, pointing to the door. "Go to Santa Fe; I won't hold you back."_

_He caught her eyes as he stood up, heading for the door. They were filled with water, yet were eerily calm._

"_You're free to do what you want, Jack Kelly." _

_He wanted to argue. He wanted to stay and explain himself- but he really had nothing to explain. It was time for him to leave; he couldn't put into words why, it just __was__. Her words had stung, but he knew there was no use in speaking. If Sarah was going to think that way, she was going to think that way. If the past few weeks had taught Jack Kelly anything, it was that he didn't have the power to make things happen- or not happen. _

"_Goodbye, Sarah," he said, walking out the door. _

"_If you leave, you'd better not come back," she said, almost at a whisper. _

_He wasn't positive if he'd heard it, so he chose to believe it was never said._

**Present Day**

Jack used the nearest towel to pat his face dry.

Yes, he could definitely see why Sarah would be angry. He hadn't exactly gone about it in the most truthful of ways. And it wasn't the most opportune moment to refer to their issues. He tried to figure out what had convinced him that going to see Sarah first and out-of-the-blue would be a good idea. As he exited the washroom, he noticed Sarah sitting at the table, intensely focused on two needles and a pile of yarn. He also noticed the small bed in which Les usually slept. It was empty.

"Sarah, where's Les?" This question prompted another. "And where's David?" That fear of the unknown began to creep in again. He didn't like it. Not one bit.

Sarah looked up from her knitting and saw Jack eyeing Les's bed.

"Les hasn't slept there since Capelli arrived in Manhattan. He sleeps in my parents' room now," she said, monotonously. After taking a quick peak at the clock, she resumed her knitting but continued speaking.

"David left to finish up something at work about an hour ago. He should be done soon, but he goes to the lodging house every night, so I assume that's where he'll be."

"Work?" Jack said, almost not wanting to hear the answer. "You mean he ain't a newsie no more?"

"That's right. His teacher offered him a job about six months ago. He's really enjoying it so far."

Jack tried to take it in. So David was no longer a newsie. He had a different job now, and apparently, was back in school. He couldn't accept it. It was too much to come to terms with in that moment- his mind moved on to the next inquiry so it could forget the answer to the first.

"Who the hell is Capelli?"

"He's the-" She stopped and exhaled loudly. "What am I saying? You wouldn't know anything about all of this, would you?"

Jack looked around the room and scratched the back of his head before he decided not to answer. The tension was again rising in the room, but it was no longer between Sarah and him. It was between Sarah and… something else. He didn't know what. Not yet, anyway.

Jack was used to feeling confused; he was nowhere near being the smartest guy east of the Mississippi. He often found himself asking question for clarification, but this was different. He hadn't the slightest clue as to what Sarah was referring when she mentioned some guy arriving in Manhattan. However, the sudden change in her demeanor when she _did_ mention it made him feel like this was something he, as leader of the Manhattan newsies, should know about.

He sat down at the table, in the chair directly across from her. He dropped his two small bags on the floor and said, "Sarah, what do ya mean 'all of dis'? What's going on?"

He braced himself. Whatever it was- it wasn't trivial, and it wasn't good. Les wouldn't have resorted to sleeping in Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs's room just because some guy named Capelli moved into town. There was more, much more.

Sarah looked him in the eyes. "I'd forgotten how long you've been away."

Jack was sure it sounded more bitter than she intended, at least, he hoped it did.

"Everything happened so fast after you left," she began, knitting once again. "We were waiting for you to come back- all of us. David, my parents, the newsies. The boys would say 'We'll figure out what to do when Jack gets back.' David and Les were the most optimistic; I didn't have the heart to tell them that you ab-"

Her voice broke, and she took a moment to clear her throat. "You should have seen Les when it finally sunk in; he cried more in that hour than the day we won the strike." She quickly wiped a few tears from her eyes, which she kept hidden by keeping her attention on the needles.

"I don't even know where to start." She placed her knitting materials on the table and looked up at Jack with a serious expression.

"Jack, the newsies are in trouble. Their jobs, their _lives_ are being threatened; one's already been killed."

"Killed?"

It wasn't the question he'd most wanted to ask, but Sarah must've still known him well enough to spot this.

"It was Roller from Queens."

Jack felt a strong twinge of guilt for the relief that rushed through him. He wasn't happy about this news, though; he'd known Roller for a number of years. He was a good guy. He was the leader of the Queens newsies- and a good one at that. To think that he was no longer on this earth… Jack couldn't believe it.

"So it ain't just Manhattan that's in trouble?"

"No. It's all newsies in the city. Capelli's been…. Jack, I shouldn't be the one telling you all of this. I don't even know enough to explain it fully."

Jack stood up and grabbed his belongings from the table. "It's ok. I'm gonna head to the lodgin' house then. The boys'll be able to fill me in, right?"

Sarah nodded and said nothing else. Jack took this as his cue to open the door.

"Wait, Jack."

"What is it?"

"Don't go through the front door of the lodging house."

"Why?"

"The newsies can explain why- just don't do it. You can enter through the bunkroom window, but make certain no one sees you go in. Understood?"

Jack could tell from the firmness of her voice that she gave him this information for his own protection. He probably should have felt scared, but the only thing he could feel was the sinking feeling in his stomach begin to lift.

"Alright, alright, there ain't no need to get your skirts all ruffled," he said with a could-not-help-himself grin.

He could have sworn he saw Sarah flash a smile, which quickly faded into a throat-clearing.

"Goodbye, Jack."

"See ya around, Ms. Jacobs."


	4. Viva

_The Cowboy Returns__ Chapter 4: "Viva"_

_**June 22, 1900**_

"_Da usual," Jack said, as he wondered if Weasel would remember how many "the usual" was in… some time from then. _

_Jack walked down the steps with a smile on his face that hadn't been there for the past few weeks, maybe months. It didn't go unnoticed. _

"_You seem to be in a good mood, Cowboy."_

"_I am, Dave," he said, spitting in his hand._

"_I guess going to bed early was just what you needed. Sleep works wonders," David said, careful not to sound too proud of his suggestion. He then spit in his own hand and offered it to his best friend and leader._

"_Yep," replied Jack as they shook. That was all he said. He didn't have the heart to tell his right-hand man that he actually hadn't gotten any sleep the previous night, nor did he have the heart to tell him why. _

"_Ready to go?"_

_Jack nodded and the two began their daily trek. _

_Jack sold faster than normal that morning. He wasn't sure if it was the headlines or his excitement for things to come. Before the sun could even begin its summer assault, he'd sold over seventy papes. _

"_Maybe one of these days you'll catch up to me, eh Dave?" _

"_I think that day will be here sooner than you think. That woman just bought number fifty-one."_

_Jack smiled. David was getting better each day. He'd be fine._

"_I think I'se gonna head back. I'm beat for today."_

"_Beat?" said David, waving another newspaper in the air. "You're not even finished selling yet. NEW YORK MAN GAMBLES AWAY FORTUNE!"_

_Jack chuckled to himself as David sold a paper to a middle-aged man who looked all too pleased to read about the misfortune of the fortunate. _

_Jack knew the story to which David was referring. It was about an upper-class widower who lost 450 dollars in a philanthropic poker game. Jack beamed. He had taught his best friend everything he knew about being a successful newsie, and David didn't let any advice go to waste. He paid special attention to the motto Jack himself had created: Headlines don't sell papes, newsies sell papes. The Walkin' Mouth had certainly caught onto the art of improving the truth, and it showed. Jack wondered if David would be even better than him by the time he returned. _

"_I can sell the rest of 'em on the way to your place."_

"_My place?"_

"_Yeah, I gotta talk to Sarah."_

"_Alright," David shrugged. _

_As Jack took his first few steps away, he heard David call back to him._

"_Make sure you make it to Tibby's! Eliza will be there so everyone can finally meet her."_

_Jack nodded. He was surprised at how cautious he'd become in choosing his words._

"_I'll see ya, Dave."_

_He wasn't lying. He was just… improving the truth a little. _

**Present Day**

Jack was overwhelmed with disappointment. As much as he tried not to think about it, the fact that David was no longer a newsie kept pressing on him. He'd taken him under his wing. He'd taught him every trick in his book, helped him become a leader in his own right. He treated him like a brother. He assumed that he would come back and find out that David was peddling one hundred papes a day— even more with a good headline. But David had a new job now; he had gone back to school. He wasn't a newsie anymore. What could have possessed him to do it?

The reason Jack feared the most- which he would never say out loud- was that David was a coward. This "Capelli" fellow had scared him away. It _was_ possible that David had chosen to run instead of face the man and stand up to whatever he was doing. It didn't sound like something David would do, but he _had_ quit being a newsie. Jack was prepared for anything.

Jack saw it: the Newsboys' Lodging House, complete with a sign that looked like Kloppman had planted the tree used to make it. None of it looked any different, thank goodness, but he did notice two tough-looking men standing in front of the main entrance. They stood with their feet apart and arms folded. Who were these guys? Was one of them Capelli? He knew better enough than to wait around to try and figure it out. He nonchalantly walked around to the other side of the building, careful to keep his distance. He reached for the fire escape rail but snapped his hand away when he recalled Sarah's warning. He couldn't be seen.

He scanned the surrounding area, not quite sure who or what to look for. He didn't see anyone, so he began his climb. It was a longer journey up than he remembered. The steps seemed like they'd shrunk since the last time he felt them under his feet. The slight rattle of the rails which used to instigate daring now caused his fingers to cramp and his knuckles to turn white. Nothing could affect his speed, though. It had been long enough.

"Hey, fellas! I think I hear Davey coming up," said a voice near the window. Jack grinned. It was an involuntary action, but he didn't mind. His heart thumped as he took the step that would allow him to see through the window into the bunkroom. He practically leapt onto it, anxious to reveal himself to one of his favorite pals.

"Heya, Crutchy."

Crutchy didn't say anything. He just stared back in shock.

"I just got here today and figured I'd stop by and see if me old bunk's available," Jack said as he climbed the last few steps and sat in the window. He swung his legs over and stood, at last, in his old place. It had been his castle, of sorts, and it felt great to be back in it.

With each movement forward he made, however, Crutchy hobbled backwards, as if he were afraid of something. Or of someone. Of him.

"Whatsamatta? Crutchy, it's just me. Jack Kelly. Cowboy. Remember?"

The question was supposed to be rhetorical, but Crutchy's behavior caused Jack to wonder at the actual answer.

The chatter in the bunkroom died down a bit as several heads turned to the scene by the fire escape.

"Jack!"

"It's Jack!"

"He's back!"

Jack had heard the newsies shout these things before. They were said in a completely different tone this time, though. Jack froze. His stomach sank.

"You'se got a lot of guts showin' your face around here, Cowboy," said Specs, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Decided to come back, didja?" said Skittery. "Why, Jack? So you'se could cause us more trouble?"

Jack wanted to pinch himself. Could this really be happening?

One by one, the newsies formed a half-circle around him. Not knowing what to say or do, he leaned against the bunkroom wall, still frozen. He hurt more with each angry face that confronted him. It was everything but what he expected. He couldn't wrap his head around why his friends weren't happy to see him.

The only people who hadn't joined the mob were Racetrack and Tumbler, who sat silently on the latter's bunk. Jack wasn't surprised to see a cigar sticking out of the side of Racetrack's mouth. Several cards lay about, which Tumbler studied intently before looking up. The two watched the event with interest, but they did not move from the bed.

Jack caught Race's eyes; he couldn't read them. Several years of gambling had allowed Racetrack the opportunity to perfect his poker face. It didn't matter- Jack was sure he must have been angry, too. Jack was actually shocked that Race wasn't in the center of the group, egging everyone on in their bitter remarks. This was not to say that he found their behavior valid- he didn't- but Jack Kelly was a firm believer in the phrase "history repeats itself." The last time the newsies stood in front of him in anger, Racetrack's words had the most bite. He'd practically spit on him with his comments, as if he was worth no more than street dust. It hurt.

Race stared at him for a few seconds before he sighed and stood up. He looked at Jack once more, rolled his eyes, and took the cigar our of the mouth.

"Alright, boys. Boys? BOYS!"

The newsies stopped debating what to do with "the snooty little traitor" and turned their attention to the short, albeit commanding, Italian.

"His fault or not, yellin' at him ain't gonna do us any good. Look at his face," he said, softening his tone slightly, "he don't have a clue what's going on. And I'm bettin' he doesn't know why you idiots look like a bunch of hungry wolves."

He didn't speak up to be kind. He simply spoke in a straight-forward manner. Either way, Jack was grateful for the intervention.

"Have a seat there on the floor, Cowboy. We'll tell ya everything."

Those were the four words Jack had wanted to hear since the moment he realized he was not welcome back. He sat on the floor as Race instructed. He wanted to sit on his bunk, but he decided not to push his luck.

"I just came from Sarah's. She told me a little but not everything. All I know is that some guy named Capelli is tryin' to take over the newsies. And that he killed Roller."

At the mention of the name of the former leader of Queens, the boys' expressions changed.

"Not just killed," said Snitch, "tortured and murdered."

"What?"

"They cut off his fingers and shot him in the face." said Itey. "All because Capelli and his lot wanted to make an example outta him. They messed him up any way they could think of."

Jack was bothered by this information, and the others' faces told him that he was not alone.

"But, why?"

"To keep the leaders at bay," said Skittery who, along with a few others, decided to sit on the floor. "To keep them from fighting back when the Caps come to take over."

"The Caps?"

"Capelli's men. We don't know who they are and what they're called, so we'se just call 'em 'Caps'."

Jack's mind raced through a million different questions, but one stuck out. He didn't know anything about Capelli, save for one thing: Capelli was a leader. Jack was a leader, and he knew that a good leader always had a goal. Capelli wasn't taking over the newsies for fun- he wanted to accomplish something.

"What does he want with us?"

"Us?"

"The newsies."

"Well, we don't know what he wants from _us_," said Skittery, with too much emphasis on the last word, "but whatever it is, he wants it bad enough to kill for it."

"So... dis man is running around, takin' over lodging houses and killing the leaders if they don't give in?"

"And throwing out anyone who objects," added Boots. "Most of the Queens boys are out of a job. The Caps'll knock them out cold and leave them somewhere in the outskirts of the city. If you don't follow their rules, you're done for."

The more Jack heard, the more he felt a certain fire in his belly grow. It was the same fire that had initiated the strike- and won it. It was the same fire that helped him dream of Santa Fe for several years- and the same fire that made him leave it.

"Well, what are we gonna do about it? We can't just let them take over the whole city!"

Specs snickered in an almost maniacal way.

"'We'? _You_ don't have to do anything. You're not our leader anymore," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, hey, you'se done enough already."

"What did I-"

It was then Jack heard a voice behind him. He recognized it immediately and felt an immense relief wash over him.

"How's it rolling, fellas?"

'Heya, Dave!"

Jack knew David wouldn't be mad at him. He didn't know _how_ he knew this, but he _knew_. Given what had happened when he turned scab, this "knowledge" should have been a stretch. Maybe it _was_ a stretch. Maybe Jack was just making a grand assumption because the alternative- that no one was on his side- was too much to handle.

"What?" said David as he climbed through the window. "Did you all miss me so much that you decided to gather around and wait-"

Jack could tell what had happened. He was in no way a genius, but he had enough sense to figure out why the Walkin' Mouth had stopped speaking.

Jack stood up and turned around to face the person who was still- he hoped- his best friend.

"Jack..." David said, almost in a trance.

The awestruck look on his face disappeared and was replaced by a look far more serious. He looked out the window, then back at Jack.

"Did anyone see you come in?"

"No, no," said Jack, confused by the drastic change in tone. He was still sure David wasn't angry, but the question was not asked casually.

"Sarah already warned me to make sure nobody was watching. I'se still don't know why, but listenin' to your sister's advice never did me any harm before."

"Sarah told you to come here?"

"Yeah. Well, sorta. She said she couldn't explain everything about Capelli herself, so I thought I'se should ask the newsies."

David scanned the room and returned his gaze to Jack. He seemed interested. "How much do you know so far?"

"They told me about the Caps and about Roller. Why they killed him an' all. What I don't understand is- well, there's a lot of things about all dis that I don't understand- but what really... I mean..." Jack attempted to keep calm, but his frustration grew the more he realized he had nothing to do with what happened. "I don't see what you all are blaming me for! I'se didn't tell Capelli to take over the newsies!"

David stopped Skittery, Dutchy, and a few others from giving rebuttals before speaking.

"Have another seat. There's a few more things you should know."

David sat down several feet in front of Jack. He placed a small pile of papers he'd entered with on the floor beside him.

"Jack, this Capelli- he knows what he's doing. I hate to say it that way, but it's true. The Caps are slowly taking over each borough; they get rid of the leader and completely run the lodging house. I assume they chose Queens first because Roller is- _was_- a strong leader. Maybe not so strong physically, but he was unbreakable in every other way. When he tried to fight back... well, you know what happened."

It made Jack uncomfortable to hear anything even slightly negative about Roller, even if it was true. He knew David didn't mean it as an insult- he was just analyzing the opponents. He shifted his weight anyway.

"When Caps are in charge, they set the rules, and the rules are extremely strict. They keep a close watch on every move, every word, every smile and nod. Did you see those two guards by the front door?" Jack nodded. "Those are Caps. They make sure no one comes in who isn't supposed to."

"Which is why Davey comes in through dat window," said Snipeshooter, who seemed amused by this fact.

"They don't keep a watch on the windows?" Jack asked, bewildered. That much should have been obvious.

"Not for us, no. Capelli doesn't see Manhattan as much of a threat, so the rules aren't as bad here as they are other places."

"They don't know our Walkin' Mouth here even exists. If they did, things would be much worse," Race said. The statement had a hint of fear behind it. Jack wondered if Race had seen more than the others; he wondered if maybe Race had been gambling in Queens the day Roller died.

David gave a humble, but appreciative, smile.

"The bums go easy on us because we ain't got a leader," said Skittery. His words were icy, changing the entire mood in the bunkroom. "They don't pay much attention to us, and why should they? Once they found out that you aba- that our leader left us to the wolves, they moved in quickly. We didn't have any time to prepare."

"Skittery, this isn't-"

"No, Dave! He needs to know what he did. We had no one tellin' us how to fight back. We had no organizer. You weren't there when we needed you to be. The Caps treat us like a joke. Like cowards! An' we have you to thank for it."

"But I wasn't even here! How could all this be my fault? I was gone!" Jack practically shouted, hoping they'd all make the connection.

"Exactly," said Swifty. "You were gone."

Wrong connection.

He couldn't think of anything else to say. Again, he had no defense against their state-of-mind. He stood up and, pushing through any newsies in his way, walked to his bunk and began to climb.

"Where do you think you'se going?"

"To sleep. I'm sick of hearing these lies."

"That ain't your bed no more, Cowboy," Skittery said. "You'se can't sleep there. Find somewhere else."

"I sleep where I want." He knew he sounded like a tight-wad, but he couldn't think of anything else to say to these people who could see no reason.

"Stop climbing," Skittery warned. Jack ignored him.

"I said stop climbing!"

He ran at Jack and tried to pull him off the ladder. Racetrack was on Skittery's tail. He pulled him away from Jack and the bunk just in time. David stepped in between the two, narrowly missing a punch in the head from his former leader which had been meant for Skittery.

"You're not going to solve anything by soaking him. Now calm down."

Skittery took a few deep breaths and stopped struggling- partly out of respect for David and partly because Race was still holding his arms. A little more relaxed now, he shrugged Race off and went to the washroom, slamming the door behind him.

Jack nodded his thanks to the little Italian who was apparently much stronger than he looked. The rest of the newsies had scattered about, willing to watch the would-be fight from any angle.

"He's right though," David said, turning to face Jack. "You can't sleep here."

"I don't understand."

"Jack, the Caps know who you are. They know you're name at least," he added when Jack widened his eyes. "The first time they came- well, I wasn't here exactly..." He looked at Race to continue.

"It was sometime in February. They all came rushin' in here like a race was about to start or something. Capelli asked if our leader was here, so we told him no. Then he said, 'There's no Jack Kelly here?' I made my usual genius remark, which he didn't find too funny, and then told him how you'd left over six moths ago. They must've thought we was lying at first 'cause they kept a close watch on us for a few weeks. Then they eased off."

"See, Jack? The reason I'm able to sneak in every night- the reason we can plan how we're going to fight back is because we don't have a leader. If they find out you're back, even though you're not..." Jack knew David was looking for a political way to say it, so he motioned for him to continue. He understood perfectly. "Caps will start moving in right away, at full control. They'll force them to sell in the worst places. They won't make any money, and whoever puts up a fight will be dropped off in no man's land."

'Them?' 'They?' It was then Jack recalled that David was no longer a newsie.

"Not to mention," David continued, "they'll force you to step down and leave. They'll threaten to kill you if you ever show your face again.

To Jack, it didn't really sound so bad. It sounded more humane than what the newsies were putting him through.

"And I know you; you'll want to fight. You're good, but you can't beat them, Jack. Not yet."

Jack didn't think it could be that cut-and-dry, but he decided not to argue. Besides, who would want to sleep in a room full of ex-friends who wanted nothing more than your head on a silver platter? Jack, feeling defeated, picked up his belongings and climbed out the window. He didn't say a word.

As he stood on the fire escape, he again heard David' voice behind him.

"Jack."

He turned around and saw David leaning his upper body out of the window. His eyes held some sympathy, but his tone was all business.

"Be careful going down. Don't let any Caps see you. If they do, don't tell them your name."

"Please," he added softly.

Jack nodded. He was about to begin his decent, but he couldn't help himself. He had to know one more thing.

"Why'd you leave the newsies, Dave?"

Jack could tell David was taken back by the question, but he answered it anyway.

"I didn't leave them, Jack. I come back every night to help however I can."

"You know what I mean. You'se got a different job now. You'se back in school."

David smiled.

"My dad finally found a job at another factory. He told me I could still be a newsie, but I had just proposed to Eliza-"

"What? You'se engaged?"

"Shhh... keep it down. Yes, I'm engaged."

"To who?"

"Eliza. She's the one- oh, that's right," he said, lowering his eyes, "you never got to meet her."

For the first time since he'd returned, Jack caught a little bit of anger in David.

After a brief pause, David resumed his normal mood. Almost.

"Well, goodnight. And please be careful."

"I will. Night, Dave."

By the time Jack spit in his hand, David had already gone from the window. He could hear his voice fade as he took each step down.

"Alright, fellas. I brought our old plans with me because I think our original strategy was more on-target than the one we have now..."

Jack was feeling a lot of things. Hurt, angry, disappointed, shocked, and slightly guilty were just the tip of the iceberg.

He walked around aimlessly for a while, not sure where he'd be sleeping. He had assumed he'd move back into the lodging house and hid old bunk without any problem. Since it didn't look like that would ever happen, he weighed his other options.

He had enough for a night in a hotel, but he didn't think it smart to spend the money. He realized then that he no longer had a job, either. He couldn't go back to selling newspapers. There was no way the newsies would let him sell, especially with Caps always watching. He'd have to look for a job in the morning. He felt more overwhelmed with each second that passed. The day had been everything but the homecoming he'd expected. Everything was bad news, and the worst part was that he couldn't do anything about it. The newsies wouldn't _let_ him do anything about it. He felt useless. He felt dejected. He felt alone.

He spotted an empty bench and decided that it would be as good a place as any. Humiliated, he lay down and used his small bag of belongings as a pillow.

He waited for sleep, but it did not come. His mind was reeling over all the information he learned within the last hour. He tossed and turned multiple times, never able to feel comfortable enough to fall asleep. He had a feeling it would be a long while before he ever slept again.

It was completely silent, save for the occasional person passing by. He listened carefully to each one's footsteps. He kept himself occupied by guessing the ages and social classes of the strangers. Most were poor men; the sound of work boots was the easiest for him to distinguish.

There was one that gave him a run for his money. It was the sound of a more expensive shoe, but the steps were not perfectly straight. They kind of wandered from side to side, indicative of a lower-class walk. And the steps were light. It couldn't have been a woman, Jack reasoned, because no woman would walk around Manhattan by herself at night- and this person was definitely alone. He came to the conclusion that it was a younger boy returning home late from the factory. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Satisfied with his conclusion, hr turned his attention back to the Sandman.

That was his intention, but curiosity got the best of him when he failed to hear the footsteps of this factory boy pass him. Instead, they moved closer. And closer. They eventually came close enough to put Jack on edge. He could feel the boy's presence looming over him, and it made him feel uneasy. His mind automatically went to a worst-case scenario: This person was a Cap. He had recognized Jack, and he would carry him off to Capelli. Thinking defensively, Jack decided to pretend to be asleep. If the element of surprise was his only asset, he would milk it for all its worth.

Before Jack had time to figure out exactly _how_ he was going to do this, the person spoke up.

"So you really _are_ a terrible bluffer."

Jack immediately relaxed. He had been wrong. He didn't know the voice, but it didn't belong to a boy.

"Open your eyes. Come on, I know you're awake." Her voice lost any amusement it carried in her first statement. She sounded rushed. Jack opened his eyes and was grateful to see a friendly, albeit serious, face staring down at him. She was definitely a girl. Any hair she had was hidden under a newsie cap, but he had no doubt she was female. In fact, if this was a boy, Jack felt very sorry for him.

"You Jack Kelly?"

He wasn't expecting that.

"Yeah," he said, and regretted it. He should have lied until he knew who she was.

"You're in danger. Come with me."

Without even a chance to ask why, Jack felt the girl grab his hand and pull him off the bench. She did it so quickly and with such force that he barely had time to grab his bag.

Jack hadn't run this fast since Chaser escaped from her stall. He felt like he was running for his life. For all he knew- maybe he was.

He could tell she was taking him down the lower east side, but he was too busy trying to figure out who she was to pay attention to where they were.

The possibility that he had met her before crossed his mind; though he didn't recognize _her_, he recognized her hat. Jack thought this was an odd thing to remember about a person, but it was true. He knew that hat, but from where?

"Do I know-"

"No questions yet. They'll slow us down."

In silence, Jack allowed this strange girl to lead him through the darkness. As he ran, he tried to ignore the stings that hit him. He felt them each time his mind replayed the day's events.

Jack noticed less and less street lamps as they ran into the night. He wasn't sure where this girl would take him.

He secretly hoped he would somehow end up in yesterday.


End file.
